


Moment of Silence

by undercoverwarlock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apologies, Drarry, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Making Out, Making Up, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24627001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercoverwarlock/pseuds/undercoverwarlock
Summary: Hogwarts would always be there, a home for anyone... even Draco Malfoy. Harry would make sure of that.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 24
Kudos: 367





	Moment of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

It took them a year to rebuild Hogwarts. A year of Harry, Ron, Hermione, the professors, their classmates – as many of them that could manage anyway – rebuilding their home, stone by stone. Older students taught the younger ones how to reconstruct walls with a charm. The Muggle-borns showed those from wizarding families how to mop and sweep and dust while the house elves that had survived watched with trepidation. Hagrid cut down trees from the Forbidden Forest with care to shape new beams, doors, house tables. And every night, they pulled together to cook dinner and eat in the Great Hall, less like a school and more like a family. It was an awkward, uncomfortable year. Near the end of it, as Harry walked with Ron, Hermione and McGonagall through the empty corridors, they talked about reopening properly in the fall.

“There won’t be many students,” said McGonagall with a sniff. She pulled out a tartan handkerchief and fussed with her glasses, and the other three looked away politely so they couldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “Many families won’t want their children here. Not for a long time, I suspect.”

“That’s alright,” said Harry. He looked through one of the windows out towards the grounds. The window had once held a stained glass portrait of some great wizard, but they could only find fragments, so now it was a kaleidoscope of colour and disjointed body parts – a hand raised in blessing or warning, a foot sticking out beneath a robe, a worried face. “Whoever comes, Hogwarts will be here for them. That’s how this place started, right, Professor? Then that’s how it will be.”

So when less than a hundred students returned for the Start of Year feast, Harry tried not to be disappointed. Those returning for their “eighth year” sat at their own table while the rest mingled together, regardless of House, at the remaining tables. Harry looked out across the upturned faces as McGonagall rose to address them after the Sorting – only five new students, and they all sat with their siblings or by themselves slightly apart from the rest. He smiled grimly at the hope, the quiet determination he saw in those young faces. Most had been there repairing the castle over the last year. They knew what they were in for.

“As most of you will know, this will not be an ordinary year at Hogwarts.” McGonagall braced her fingertips at the podium – Dumbledore’s podium, Harry thought reflexively, no, not anymore – before she continued. “We have sorted the first years who have joined us as is our tradition, but since there are so few of us…. Well. It has been decided amongst the faculty that instead of dividing everyone by House, we will instead be dividing by year. The first and second years will have the Hufflepuff dormitories by the kitchen – one of our eighth years will show you,” here she gestured at Susan Bones, who stood with an encouraging smile. “Third and fourth years will be in the Slytherin dormitories, fifth and sixth years in Ravenclaw, and seventh and eighth years in Gryffindor. At the end of the year, we will be holding the end of year exams as usual, as well as O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s for anyone wishing to take them. That just leaves one last order of business.” At this, McGonagall straightened her shoulders, as if steeling herself for some great challenge. Harry’s brow furrowed, and he glanced at Ron and Hermione, who shook their heads. Then, McGonagall said, “I would be dishonouring our late Headmaster’s memory if I didn’t finish this evening with a round of our school song.”

Everyone but the first years burst into laughter. Nonetheless, as McGonagall charmed the lyrics to unroll themselves on a scroll above her head, everyone joined in to sing along. Harry looked around again as he sang, grinning, when he thought he heard the doors to the Hall opening. He narrowed his eyes. A tall, thin figure had slipped in during the chorus and was standing with his back against the door, watching the students sing in silence. Harry would know that white-blonde hair anywhere. He swore under his breath. Ron and Hermione turned their heads to follow his gaze.

“That git,” growled Ron. “I can’t believe it! The nerve – how dare he show his face here.”

“Ron. Come on.”

“Hermione, you can’t seriously think we should just let him back!”

Harry glanced over at McGonagall. She, too, had noticed the intruder, if her rigid jaw was anything to go by, but she did not protest. She and Harry shared a meaningful look, and he sighed.

“It’s okay, Ron,” he whispered. “If McGonagall allows it, we should too.”

“Harry – ”

“I’m not saying I approve,” he added with a frown. “I’m just saying, what she says goes. Alright?”

Ron scowled, but joined the rest in applauding the end of the song. When they all stood to go to their new dormitories, Harry saw the man slip back out as quietly as he had come. With a quick word to Ron and Hermione that he would join them in a sec, Harry hurriedly made his way through the confused crowd after him.

“Draco!” he called as he jogged down the corridor. But the man was already gone. Harry went down towards the front doors to the castle even as he heard the rest of the students start to pour out of the Great Hall. He called Draco’s name again, picking up the pace. Finally, he turned the corner, and saw him. “Draco, wait!”

Draco froze, one hand on the door. He let his hand fall to his side as he turned to look at Harry.

“What do you want, Potter?”

It was not the sneering voice Harry remembered. There was a rasp of disuse to it, a brokenness that matched the dark circles under the haunted grey eyes. Now that he was here, just a few feet away from Harry, Harry could see that Draco’s black suit was worn, the cuffs and lapel faded slightly. There was a briefcase in his other hand, too small to hold more than a change of clothes, surely. Stubble shaded his jaw, and there was a gauntness to the other man’s cheeks, a paleness that spoke to months without sunlight. Harry swallowed hard. Prison had drained the pride out of Draco and left behind a different man.

“You don’t have to go,” said Harry at last. Draco scoffed, smiling grimly.

“No, I think I should. I do not know what I was thinking, coming here. It was a mistake. I just – I heard the school was opening when I was released and I thought….” He trailed off with a sigh. He rolled his shoulders back and raised his hand to the door again. “I should go,” he said again, his voice soft but firm in its resolution.

“Wait, don’t.”

Draco looked just as surprised as Harry was at the words. Harry bit his lip. Why was he insisting Draco stayed? Didn’t he want the man gone, out of his life forever? With a pang, he realized that he didn’t. That all of the past year, what the castle was missing was right in front of him. Not that he would ever say that to Draco. Ever.

“You should stay,” he said instead. “What did Dumbledore always say? Help will always be there to those who ask for it? Well, Hogwarts is here, for anyone willing to stay.”

Draco looked from Harry to the door and back. He pressed his lips together in a thin line as he seemed to consider Harry’s words. Then, with a small and mirthless laugh, he let his hand drop once again.

“Eloquent as ever, Potter,” he said with a ghost of his old sneer. “Alright then. I will stay. For now. If only because I have nothing better to do at present.”

Harry grinned.

“Great. Well, you might as well follow me,” he said, turning to go. Draco’s brow furrowed.

“What do you mean? Has the Slytherin common room moved?” he asked, confused.

“Oh, no, you must have missed that part of McGonagall’s speech. We’re sorting everyone by year, not by House. For now, since there are so few of us. The seventh and eighth years are up in Gryffindor Tower.”

Draco’s mouth opened and closed. Harry could practically see him reconsider leaving. Then his narrow shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Merlin and Morgana. Well. Fine. Show me the way then,” said Draco grudgingly. Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Come on, then.” He waited just a moment for Draco to join him, then the two of them made their way through the silent castle, side by side.

They walked along in awkward silence. As they started the climb up towards the seventh floor, Harry cleared his throat just as Draco began to speak.

“So – ”

“I just wanted to – ”

“Oh, I’m sorry, go – ”

“No, it is fine, after you – ”

“No, seriously, I’ve done all the talking, please.”

Draco looked away, stuffing the hand not clutching the briefcase into his trouser pocket. “I… I wanted to say… I’m sorry.”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. Draco turned, already a few steps ahead on the staircase. There was a faint blush in his hollow cheeks. Harry couldn’t do anything but stare as Draco’s words went round and round his head. Draco Malfoy… apologising? The world certainly had changed. He blinked and had to remind himself to breathe.

“Sorry for what?” he finally managed. Draco groaned, rolling his head back to glare at the ceiling for a moment before turning to face Harry properly. With Draco standing above him like this, Harry really got a look at his frame, at how the fabric of his black button down was loose over his stomach as if he’d lost a lot of weight since he’d last worn it, at how his trousers, usually so pressed and well fit, were just a little baggy at the hips. He looked him up and down, not realizing how lingering his gaze was becoming until Draco spoke again.

“I’m sorry for… everything. Merlin’s pants, what do you want me to say? I’m sorry, Potter. For treating you like shit. For bullying you all those years. For choosing the wrong damn side in that stupid war.” His voice broke, and Draco looked away, biting his lip to keep himself steady. Harry’s heart hammered in his ears. “I’m sorry,” Draco said again, and Harry felt the weight of those words crash over him. He didn’t fully realise he was sitting down until he hit the stone step with a sharp exhale.

“Oh,” he said, uselessly. Draco leaned against the railing, eyes downcast.

“Yeah,” he breathed, to no one in particular. “Oh.”

When the silence fell between them again, Harry barely noticed. Draco’s words were still reeling through his mind. Each time he tried to say something, he found the words died somewhere in his throat. When it became clear they weren’t moving anywhere, Draco slid down so that he sat on the stair just above Harry, his elbows on his knees. One heartbeat, two, three passed. Finally, Harry swallowed.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said. He looked up at Draco just in time to see the relief cascade over his face, and he thought he saw tears welling up in those pale grey eyes. They reminded Harry of the ocean crashing against the rocks of the cave where Tom Riddle had hidden his first Horcrux – tormented and achingly lonely. He looked away the same time Draco did. Instead, he spoke to the other man’s lightly scuffed dress shoes. “We were just kids, you know? We both made mistakes.”

Draco let out a low bark of laughter. “What mistakes did Perfect Potter make?” he demanded, voice cold.

“Plenty,” was all Harry could manage to say. He felt Draco’s eyes on him, but this time he knew better than to look up. “Listen, I know we should probably go up, Ron and Hermione are probably getting nervous.” He ignored Draco’s little scoff, and continued, “But I also think we should really talk. It seems like there’s a lot, you know, we need to talk about.”

“You think Weasley and Granger can manage without you?” Draco sneered, but there was no malice to it. Not anymore.

“Trust me, if these past couple years have taught me anything, it’s that they can handle themselves. Now, hold on.” He got out his wand and conjured up a piece of parchment, quill and ink. He jotted down a short message and charmed it to fly off on its own towards Gryffindor tower. Then he stood, shoving his wand into his back pocket, and held his hand out to Draco to help him up. “Let’s go somewhere and talk,” he said.

Draco looked at his hand, as if half-expecting Harry to slap him, then took it and stood. His skin was cold against Harry’s, the thin fingers so pale against Harry’s rough brown skin. Just as quickly, though, Draco let go.

“Where to, then?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“Astronomy Tower?”

Draco looked up the stairs as a shadow flit across his face. Then he nodded, his jaw set. “Seems fitting. Alright then.”

They started their climb once again. Neither broke the silence this time.

It was late in the evening by the time they reached the Astronomy Tower. Harry had gone quite a few steps into the covered battlement when he noticed Draco wasn’t next to him. He turned and saw the other man standing in the doorway, hesitant. He raised an eyebrow at Draco. Draco seemed to shake himself, then followed Harry. They sat down side by side on the narrow bench along the battlement wall meant for astronomy students to sit and gaze at the stars. Instead, they looked out over the parapets of the castle, the dark ocean of the Forbidden Forest at night, the twinkling lights of Hogsmeade in the distance.

“Where do you want to start?” Harry asked finally. Draco dropped his head, looking at his hands folded neatly in his lap. Sitting next to him like this, Harry could smell his soap, sharp and clean, eucalyptus and mint, and the salt of his sweat as it cooled in the night air. His stomach churned in a way it hadn’t done since he and Ginny had split the summer after the war. He watched Draco rub his thumb against his opposite palm as if rubbing away a spot of dirt, his lean face screwed up in thought.

“I guess… what do you want to know?” Draco said at last. Harry sighed and leaned his had back against the wall, looking up at distant stars.

“Well, when you put it that way.” He wanted to ask how Draco had spent that last year, how he had survived, what had changed for him in there. He wanted to ask how he felt about Lucius’s death last September, if he knew if the Ministry had caught the Death Eater who had done it, if Draco had been able to go to the funeral. He wanted to ask why, but wasn’t sure how to finish the question. So instead, he said, “What… is your favourite colour?”

Draco’s startled chuckle made Harry smile. He looked away from the stars to gaze back at Draco, who, at Harry’s question, had stopped trying to rub away the skin of his palm. He was smiling too, and this time there was a warm gentleness to it.

“Green. Cliché, I know,” he said. He glanced up at Harry sheepishly, and when their eyes met, he added, “Like your eyes, that kind of green.” Harry raised an eyebrow, and Draco seemed to realise what he had just said. The faint colour in his cheeks drained away again, and he began to panic and splutter, “I mean, not that, Merlin I don’t know what made me say that…”

Harry laughed. “It’s fine,” he said, still chuckling. And it was. There was that feeling again, that tightness in his abdomen, those thoughts that came unbidden and made the laughs die away. He looked away, back out at the horizon. “I like green too. Although it’s not cliché, coming from a Gryffindor.”

Draco snorted rather inelegantly. Harry smirked. “Okay,” he said. “Your turn, Draco. Ask me anything.”

“Anything, huh?” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco start rubbing at his palm again. He wondered what he would say if he took those hands in his to keep them from scraping the skin raw. “What has it been like, here, this past year? I read in The Prophet you have been here this whole time, rebuilding.”

“Yeah, me and Hermione and Ron, all the professors, and a good number of the older students. When you get a chance, you should look at the greenhouses, Neville and Professor Sprout did an amazing job redesigning them. It’s funny,” he added with a small half-smile as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, “I kept expecting people to show up, you know? Like Remus, Dumbledore…hell, even Snape. It just felt empty without them. But you know who I really missed?”

Draco lifted his gaze to meet Harry’s. In that moment, Harry realised, of course he was going to tell him the truth. In that moment, when those hopeful grey eyes looked straight into him, he knew.

“Who?” asked Draco, when the silence grew expectant. Harry’s smile grew.

“You.”

Draco smiled back. He let out a small breath of laughter, looking back down at his hands. “You’re joking,” he muttered.

“No.” Draco looked up again. “No, I’m not,” Harry insisted, turning to face him properly, propping one leg on the bench to do so. “Really. I’m being serious. Every day, I kept expecting to open a door and see you bloody lounging there, sneering at me and making fun of the way I looked or something! Really!” he said again between his laughs at Draco’s disbelieving smile. “I can’t believe I’m saying it either, but I missed you, Draco. Really.” He bit his lip as Draco shook his head, the disbelieving smile turning into a stubborn frown. “I don’t know why. Because you were right, you bullied me. We were always at each other’s throats, hell I almost killed you in sixth year. And if you think you have a lot to apologise for…”

“Never said ‘a lot’…”

“…I can never apologise enough for what I did to you that day.”

That got him. Draco’s hands fell open in his lap. He raised his gaze to Harry’s face, but Harry was looking at Draco’s chest. Almost unbidden, Harry found that he was reaching out, fingers shaking slightly. He heard Draco suck in a breath as he touched the other man’s chest with his fingertips, could feel his heart pounding against his touch.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. “I didn’t know what that spell could do, and I was so stupid and angry… angry that I was right, that you had done it, that you really were a Death Eater… embarrassed that I heard you crying and couldn’t do anything to help…” Harry traced where he knew the scars to be over Draco’s chest, the cotton of his button down soft beneath his fingers, Draco’s chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. “I should have just talked to you then. And I’m so sorry I didn’t. I’m so sorry, Draco.” He looked up when he felt a drop of water land on his hand, only to see that tears were streaming down Draco’s gaunt cheeks. His little sobs racked his whole body. And when Harry raised his hand to wipe away the tears and cradle his head, Draco fell against him, not bothering to hide his cries anymore. Stunned for a moment, Harry hesitated, then enveloped him in his arms, gathering him close to his chest as Draco sobbed into his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he found himself murmuring. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. It’s over now. I got you.”

They stayed like that for a long time. In his head, Harry had to laugh a little at the scene. He knew eleven-year-old him would never have believed it if he could see them now. Harry Potter cradling Draco Malfoy’s head as he wept. Believe it, he told his younger self. You both grow up. Things change. We won the war, but the work has just begun.

Draco began to pull himself together. He moved to push himself away from Harry, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. But Harry’s hand was still against Draco’s neck, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin there, and Draco wasn’t moving away, wasn’t recoiling in disgust. Instead, Draco lowered his hand, looking down at his knees. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leaned into Harry’s touch. Emboldened, Harry reached his other hand out and oh so carefully turned Draco’s head to face him. Draco closed his eyes, still puffy from crying, biting his lip. Harry brushed the pale hair that had fallen across Draco’s forehead. He drew closer, his heart in his throat, as he caressed Draco’s cheek, his jaw, asking with the gentle pressure of his fingertips for Draco to stop biting his injured lip. And when he did, when he let Harry brush the pads of his fingers against his lip, against the bruise forming there, something broke inside Harry. He leaned forward and kissed Draco.

At first, Draco pulled away in surprise, his eyes snapping open. Harry, thinking he had horribly misread the situation, also pulled back, opening his mouth to apologise. But then Draco was kissing him, was tangling his hands in Harry’s wild hair, and Harry was smiling against the other man’s lips. He kissed Draco back, pulling him into his lap, holding him tight, breathing in that cold clean scent of him, eucalyptus and mint. He nipped at Draco’s lip eagerly, and when Draco gasped against his mouth, he took that as permission. He licked into Draco’s mouth, wanting nothing more than to taste him, to know him. Draco let out soft moan and pulled gently at his hair as if to say, “more, more.” It was messy, imperfect. Harry’s hands ran up and down Draco’s back, one moment clutching at the fabric of his blazer, the next sneaking under the blazer to press against warm cotton-covered skin. Draco pulled back for a moment with a quiet yelp of, “cold, fuck, your hands are cold,” and Harry laughed as he apologised before pulling him back into the kiss. Merlin, he could kiss Draco Malfoy all night. And from the way Draco was mouthing along his jaw and nuzzling against his neck, he felt the same way. Harry hummed as Draco began to nip and suck at the skin where his neck sloped to his shoulder and leaned away to give him easier access. He also knew that they couldn’t do this all night, no matter what the situation in his pants was telling him.

“Uh, hm, Draco, we should – oh, Merlin’s beard, you’re good at that, um, we should really be – unh – getting back.” Harry moaned as Draco dragged a hand down Harry’s chest to press his heel against his crotch. “Everyone will be – oh god – wondering where we are.”

“They can wait,” Draco whispered, his voice husky and his breath warm where it blew against the shell of his ear. “I’ve waited. We’ve waited. So long, for this. They can wait a few minutes more.”

“If you keep that up, I’ll only last a few minutes.” He turned to capture Draco’s lips with his, and, his arms wrapped around Draco’s waist and Draco’s legs wrapped around him, he lowered them both to the ground. He propped himself up on his elbows above Draco, who looked up at him with a hint of his old proud sneer. Harry smirked back. “What’s that look for?” he asked.

“Oh, I just realised – I made you look like that,” said Draco, grinning cheekily. With that, he pulled Harry back down to him. They both moaned low in their throats as Harry ground up against him and Draco reached a hand down to knead his ass. “You feel so good,” he mumbled against Harry’s lips. Harry nodded, not knowing really what he was agreeing to, only that he wanted more of this. He fumbled with Draco’s jacket. In answer, Draco rolled them around – as much as he could, his thin arms nothing against Harry’s muscular form, but Harry understood what he was trying to do. He laid back against the stone floor of the battlement as Draco straddled his hips, looking up at this pale moon of a man against the starry skies. Draco shrugged off his jacket, shivering a little in the cold evening air. Harry sat up to help him with his buttons, but Draco slapped his hands away, a ghost of his old Malfoy self in the gesture. Harry chuckled and started on his own buttons instead. When he was done, they both paused for a beat, looking at the other, drinking each other in. Harry swallowed and, again, traced the scars on Draco’s chest, Draco shivering as skin met skin at last. He looked up into Draco’s face for forgiveness. Draco gave him a gentle, timid smile. Not breaking their gaze, Harry brought his lips to one scar, then another. Draco gasped. Harry felt his heart beating against his lips, his tongue as he mouthed along one long scar. Then he ducked and licked his pink nipple, and Draco’s hand shot up to his mouth to stifle the cry that burst out of him. Harry leaned his forehead against Draco’s chest so he couldn’t see him grinning.

Then, they heard the sound of rushed footsteps on the stairs. Harry leaned back as Draco quickly turned to look over his shoulder towards the sound.

“Harry! Harry, are you okay? Harry – oh!”

Ron and Hermione stood frozen in the doorway, staring open-mouthed at the two of them. Draco practically toppled off Harry in shock. Harry blanched, then blushed furiously. He knew how this must look. Draco and Harry, completely debauched, shirts open, lips bruised, hair a mess… Harry practically beamed at them.

“I told you I was fine,” he said at last.

“What – how – Malfoy – you – what,” Ron spluttered. Hermione giggled, the realisation dawning on her as she looked from Malfoy to Harry and back.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

“This…” Draco began. Harry glanced over at him.

“If you say this isn’t what it looks like, you’re a damn liar,” he said. Draco flushed bright red, and Harry had to keep his eyes from staring at his now pink chest. Ron, meanwhile, was still making incomprehensible noises.

“I think you broke Ron,” Hermione managed between her giggles. She tugged at Ron’s hand even as he stood staring at Harry and Draco sprawled on the Astronomy Tower floor. “Let’s leave them be, alright, Ron? Come on. Let’s given them some space.”

As she finally managed to tugboat Ron back towards the stairs, Ron finally blurted out, “You’re gay?”

“Which one of us are you asking?” Harry called after his retreating form. “Ron? Which one – and he’s gone.”

Draco covered his face with his hands and groaned. Harry’s triumphant smile dimmed, and he sat up. Carefully, he pulled Draco’s hands away from his face, and bent to look into the other man’s blushing face.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft. “Could be worse. We could be naked.”

At that, Draco leaned forward and buried his face in Harry’s chest with another loud groan. Harry chuckled as he wrapped his arms around him.

This year was going to be the best year yet.


End file.
